His Lips
by TheSouthernScribe
Summary: Birthed from a simple prompt from the lovely and talented TalesFromTheSpockside. A short PWP piece. No plot. Just appreciation for Leonard McCoy and his lips.


_Disclaimer: Still don't own them. _

_**His Lips**_

It's his lips.

They are the very first piece of Dr. Leonard McCoy to catch my attention. I like to watch them as they twist with his use of vulgarities, curve when he smiles, and pucker just before they find that hollow patch of skin where my neck swoops into my shoulder.

See, that man's mouth is really a distraction. It's impossible not to focus and stare as they form vowels and consonants in such a precise manner. I shiver and shake in a poor attempt to channel my thoughts towards things that are vital to the orders I follow; reports, transmissions, and colleagues all beg for attention. We're on a constitution class starship, long gone are the lazy afternoons we use to waste as cadets.

Right now there is urgency in my need for him. My eyes drift to where he sits, slouching in the chair next to the Captain. His body is beautiful under that blue tunic and tight pants. A canvas of straight lines and smooth skin, but it can never compare to his lips.

_Shit._

He's doing it again.

Speaking…delivering one of his famous insults to his best friend and the most delicious images push all my sensible thoughts aside when that mischievous smirk adorns his face. For just a moment his eyes linger on me and I see it; the darkest desires and the deepest lust. He wets his lips and I want nothing more than to excuse myself from the Captain's ready room, disappear in the lift, and hope that he follows.

When I stand, my hand playfully tugging at the loop hanging from my ear, no one listens to the excuses I mutter before I walk to the door. I can feel heat at my back as I wait for the doors to part. I move forward, never taking a look over my shoulder. It's not necessary. It's him, there's no question about. His scent is clean and masculine, an aphrodisiac that I cannot deny.

The doors close, blocking the view of our bodies from the room. I refuse to turn as he settles behind me. His hands are cold as they slip beneath the material of my dress. They find the warmth he's created. His fingers ghost over the cotton barricade and my stifled moans radiate through the lift.

When the door opens, we're the epitome of professionalism, side by side, faces forward, and eyes averted from one another. We walk in tandem down the hall. I pause before reaching my quarters. No one is watching, so quickly we dip into the safety of the darkness. The game begins again.

He reaches for the zipper of my uniform. I stand, patient, air filling my lungs in anticipation of everything yet to come. I step out of the dress as it falls to the ground. He's in front me now, kneeling, those golden eyes watching me, all while his hands dance across my bare skin. One finger hooks into the band of my regulation briefs and drags them down my leg, and over my boots.

"You're perfect."

My heart stops.

I love this man and his mouth.

He levels tender kisses to the inside of my thigh; purposely ignoring the space that desires him the most. He grasps one leg, draping it over his shoulder, and finally he decides to meet my eyes.

I want to beg. He doesn't make me. He knows exactly what I need.

The proof is in the way his tongue darts across his lips as the words, "Steady darlin'," ease from that naughty little mouth.

Skillful fingers open my sweet spot for his entry. His first taste is hesitant. The warmth of the breath he exhales causes me to tremble. His tongue is flat and wet as it covers my folds. His licks are slow and torturous. He hums against the sensitive bundle of nerves and I swear my knees are going to buckle and there will be nothing erotic or sensual about the injuries we'll sustain.

Then his fingers dig into the flesh of my leg still resting on my shoulder. He's got me. It's a fleeting moment of reassurance. I can let go.

I lose myself in his movements.

The nibbles…

The suckling…

The strokes of his tongue are deeper and more forceful. His mouth is open – wider. His teeth graze my clit with each new blow. He readies…he aims…he fires…

My body is opening up right along with my mind and my heart. He's sinking further into me. Delighting in what I produce for him. He's moaning against my mound and it's impossible not to beg for more.

So I do, "More."

He complies, sliding one finger then two inside of me, alternating between tongue and fingers. I grab hold to the crown of hair buried between my thighs. I can feel it. The warm energy budding in depths of my belly and he flicks his tongue across my clit as his fingers curl deep inside of me. He finds his favorite spot without much work. My head lulls back and I shut my eyes tightly.

I can't even say his name as the first orgasm rips through me.

Yes it's his lips…my favorite piece of Dr. Leonard McCoy.


End file.
